“That’s fine. I’ve seen pictures to know enough about your social life.”
That made him laugh softly. “You have?”
“Well, obviously, when we found out you were the new owner and coming here, I, well, we…looked you up.” She averted her gaze again, suddenly very interested in the wine bottles. “Now where would we find the Rosso Riserva? I think it’s back here.”
She rounded a large stack, and he followed, deep into the bowels of the wine cellar now, where another few hundred bottles created eight-foot-high walls on either side of them.
“What kind of pictures tell you about my social life?” he asked.
“Pictures with women.” She pulled out a bottle, turned it, and put it back, though he couldn’t imagine how she’d read the label in the dim light.
“That sounds compromising.”
She finally met his gaze. “Nothing bad, I assure you. But let’s be honest. You do have a type.”
Yes, he had. Past tense. “You think?”
She turned to the stacks, her back to him, and pulled out another bottle. “Long, lean, dark, and mean.”
“The women or that wine?”
That made her shoulders move with a quick laugh. “Both. It’s normal. Like people either want light, crisp white or bold, deep red. You obviously like them…bold.”
He stepped closer, looking at the wines over her head. “That’s a pretty big assumption to make from a quick Internet search of a few fundraisers I’ve been to.”
“More than a few,” she said. “Fundraisers and women.”
Placing a light hand on her shoulder, he gently turned her around. “More fundraisers than women, which is to say, no, there is no one special. Please don’t turn that into an indictment of my values or my love affair with the almighty dollar. I’m single, that’s it. Are you?”
The question made her eyes widen a little. “Yes.” It was little more than a whisper, but the lone syllable sounded good. “But based on what I see, I’m not your type.”
On the contrary. “I don’t have a type.”
“Hah. You haven’t Googled yourself lately.”
“No, I sure haven’t.” His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth, that lower lip damp from her teeth and luscious. “But you can’t believe everything you see on the Internet, lemondrop, don’t you know that?”
“I know what I saw, and they were all…beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.”
She closed her eyes, and the dimples deepened. “You’re flirting with me.”
“Ya think?”
“Why are you doing that?” she asked.
“Maybe you’ve been out of the country too long.”
She frowned a bit. “Not following.”
“Because in my country, the United States of America…” He trailed a single finger over her bare shoulder, certain that the chill bumps he felt weren’t just from the room temperature. “It’s cultural protocol to flirt just a little bit before…”
“Before?” The question was just breathless enough to urge him on.
“Before the first kiss.”
She exhaled softly. “But…we’ve had our first kiss. Remember the peck on the beach?”
“Actually…” He inched closer, and she couldn’t move back without hitting the expensive wine bottles. “I can’t forget it.”
She held his gaze, her chest rising and falling with each breath. “It wasn’t that unforgettable.”
“But it was bold, and I believe you’ve mentioned that as part of my ‘type,’ right?”
“And dark and exotic and…modely.”
“Modely?” He smiled and shook his head. “Today, my type is blond and blue-eyed and…bubbly.” He lowered his head just an inch from hers. “And this kiss?”
“Mmmm?”
“Will be unforgettable.”
He eased her closer and met her halfway, placing his lips on hers lightly at first, then adding pressure. She stilled for a moment, then relaxed a little, kissing him back with exactly the enthusiasm he’d expect from her.
She tasted as sweet as the wine, and just as intoxicating. Sliding his hand down her arm for the sheer pleasure of touching more silky skin, he angled his head and ventured deeper, letting their tongues touch for the first time.
The first and not last time, he knew.
A soft whimper caught in her throat, the sound so feminine and sexy, he drew her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist and enjoying the feel of her hands working up his arms and shoulders and finally locking behind his neck.
Her lips were parted and willing, and then…gone. She leaned back but didn’t let go of him, her eyes still closed, a dreamy expression on her face.
“Oh,” she said on a soft breath. “Definitely unforgettable.”
“And definitely…” He cupped her cheek and stroked that smooth skin again. “My type.”
“You’re lying, but that kiss was worth it.”
He brushed the pad of his thumb against her lower lip, not willing to let go of that precious part of her yet. “All right, you win. I probably never have taken a blonde to a fundraiser. But everything’s different here, isn’t it?”
“In Italy?” She smiled. “I told you it’s magical.”
“I want more.” His voice was gruff, but he wasn’t going to hide how he felt. One kiss wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
“More Italy?” Her eyes held a tease.
“If that means more of you.”
She shuddered slightly in his arms. “Okay. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to Ravello. Or Capri. Or the beach. Wherever you want to go.”
He wanted to go to bed with her, now. His blood was heated, his body tense, his whole lower half tightening as arousal pumped through him. Everything in him wanted to kiss her again, to push her against the bottle stacks and get under that dress and see if every inch of Kyra Summers was as warm and seductive as her personality.
Somehow, he dug for control, loosening his grip.
“Tour guide’s choice,” he managed to say. “I’m all yours for whatever you want.”
“I want…” She finally separated and stepped away. “To get back upstairs before we’re gone too long and half the Sebastiani family comes looking for me.”
“Then get the wine, Kyra,” he reminded her.
“Oh yes, the wine.” She gave a breathless sigh, glancing around. “What were we sent to get again?”
“A 2011Rosso Riserva.” He smiled. “Did I fluster you with that kiss?”
“Fluster?” She tapped her chest as if proving she could breathe just fine. “No, no, you didn’t.” She reached over her shoulder, pulled a random bottle of wine, and blew the dust off the label. “The rossos are right here, and I don’t fluster that easily, Jimmy.”
He snorted. “Jimmy?”
“If you can call me lemondrop, I can call you Jimmy.”
“No. You can’t.”
“Even when we’re alone?”
He angled his head toward the door. “If that’s what it takes to be alone with you, then…maybe. Actually, no. Call me James.”
She just laughed, the music of it echoing over cellar walls and hitting somewhere tender in his heart. Truth was, she could call him anything she wanted as long as it meant they would be alone again soon.
Chapter Eleven
After the long day of sun, food, wine, and one very memorable kiss in the wine cellars, James had a hard time concentrating on work that night. But it was still the middle of the business day in the States, so he did his best to dig through emails and messages and finally settled into the comfortable couch with the documentation he’d gotten from Lorenzo Sebastiani.
It had come with a litany of caveats, promises for more, and pleas for a chance to go over everything together—at least that was what Kyra relayed when she translated for them—but James wanted to read everything himself. Surely William Hayward had all of this already, since it was critical information for putting together the sale, but…
/> His heart sank a little at the thought of selling the winery. Obviously, it was the intelligent business decision. A sale would give him cash that he could reinvest in something with bigger and faster profits. He wasn’t in the wine business; he was in the investment business, and that’s how he made money.
Hayward knew that, and that’s why he was able to find the perfect buyer—another winery looking to expand into Italy. Once James approved the final numbers, it was just a matter of negotiating the highest price possible.
This was simple. This was his job. This was…
Not right.
The words hit his gut with a little too much force. He didn’t understand why this one—oh hell. He understood. Two days and evenings, some tours and tastings, a lot of food and family and, yes, fun. All topped off by one extremely alluring and surprisingly persuasive little package of sunshine, and he was ready to reconsider this winery. Ready to lose money. Ready to most likely make a mistake, which was exceedingly rare in life or business for James Brannigan.
He stared out the open balcony doors, watching clouds drift in front of the moon, his mind going back to that moment when his father made this decision.
And the question: Why?
Did any of his brothers have the answer? He’d tried Gabe, and the one clear-thinking business-minded brother he trusted most had babbled about things you can’t put a price on. Damn.
Who could make sense out of this? He was also close to Finn, but he had his hands and life full these days. Only James knew that his youngest brother had been in a plane that was shot down over Afghanistan a few months ago and that Finn had quietly ended his career in the Navy. He wasn’t the brother to be a sounding board now. Not about this.
Knox was on his way to Yosemite to see Luke, from what Gabe had told him. That left Hunter, who bugged the shit out of James most of the time, and Max.
Of course, Max. He hadn’t done a damn thing about his inheritance, but basically had ignored it for as long as he could, heading off to another overseas mission before even opening the envelope.
When he had, Max discovered Dad had given him an aging horse farm in Kentucky, and when James talked to him last month, his brother had been trying to figure out what the hell to do with it. A woman had put the farm up as collateral for a loan, and Max had gone to call it in and, in James’s opinion, stood to make a handsome profit.
Which he should have done by now, at least if Max followed the advice James had given him.
Without knowing what continent he might find his brother, James tapped his contact screen and made the call, a little surprised when Max answered on the first ring, his voice low, clear, and calm. “James. Good to hear from you, my man.” At least it didn’t sound like he was in some obscure country protecting the world.
“How are you, Max?” James asked. They weren’t close, but they didn’t go head to head like James did with Knox and Hunter. Max was always cool, a trait that served him well when he was in Special Ops, kicking ass and taking names.
“Really good. How goes the world of high finance?”
If only he could remember. “Running without me for a few days,” he replied. “I’m in Italy checking on that winery Dad decided to pawn off on me.”
Max laughed. “I don’t think he was ‘pawning off’ anything. And I’m sure it’s easy on the eyes over there.”
He closed those eyes and thought of Kyra. “Very easy,” he agreed. “So, did you get the horse farm on the market? I wouldn’t mind a little recon on how that went for you, since I’m in the same boat with my legacy.”
“Yeah, well…” Max gave a little chuckle. “It didn’t exactly go as planned.”
“Really? Well, you’ll find a buyer. Shouldn’t take much time. How often do you have to go back to Kentucky?”
“Actually, I’m still here.”
James drew back, blinking in surprise. “That’s like six weeks, man. You must be writhing in agony and anxious to get back into the field. How’s that security firm even running without you?”
“Pretty well since I quit.”
“Seriously?”
Max lived for his career as a contract soldier, a mercenary who took risks to save lives the way other men breathed. He quit to…to do what? “Are you living in Kentucky?” It was so preposterous, he couldn’t quite get the words out.
Max just laughed again, in a way that gave James the impression he’d been asked this question before. “I am,” he confirmed. “And I have more news, big brother. I’m engaged.”
“Holy shit.” James dropped back on his chair. “They’re dropping like flies in this family.”
“I know last time we talked we were mocking those brothers of ours, and you, me and Finn had it all figured out, but…”
James waited for this explanation because it had to be rich.
“But, bro, once you find it, the whole world changes.”
No, the world hadn’t changed. Max had. “Then I’m happy for you.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
“I’m shocked, Max. I’m…” He huffed out a breath and tapped the speaker icon so he could put the phone down and pace the expanse of the living room.
“You’re what?”
Scared. Curious. Starting to think there was more to these legacies than…money. “Nothing, just blown away by the news. And really happy for you, man. Seriously. Tell me about her. Who is this woman? What kind of witchcraft did it take to bag a man who lives on the hairy edge and then saddle him up in Kentucky? Pun intended.”
“Ellie? She’s amazing, James. Never knew a woman like her. She’s warm and funny and, damn, you should see her ride a saddlebred horse. It’s a thing of beauty, I tell you.
And she takes no shit from nobody.”
James scratched his head, listening, a smile pulling. “That’s great, Max. And one of these days I’ll have to jet into Kentucky. They have runways there?” he teased.
“I’ll let you know when we set a date, and you better be here.”
“I will,” he promised.
“So, what the hell are you going to do with that winery? Besides send cases of the good stuff to us?”
“I’m not sure,” he said honestly. “I mean, I have an offer on the table that I haven’t even started to negotiate yet because I wanted to see the place, but…”
“But now you’re wondering why Dad did what he did, aren’t you?”
He sure as hell was. “It does seem like there was some method to the old man’s madness.” He tunneled his fingers into his hair, closing his eyes. “Although, I really would like to be wrong about that.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s one thing to be manipulated, but when a dead guy’s pulling the strings? It pisses me off.”
“He isn’t manipulating anyone or anything,” Max said firmly. “But, for me? This experience has changed everything, and for the better. Give it all a chance to work on you.”
He didn’t want anything working on him. “Yeah, sure,” he said vaguely. “I better go. You give my best to…Ellie? That’s her name?”
“Elinor, actually. You’re going to love her, James. I sure do.”
“I’m glad.”
They talked for a few more minutes, but when he hung up and picked up the papers from the winery, Max’s words echoed in James’s head. Was it possible, likely even, that Colin Brannigan had made his legacy decisions quite strategically?
If so, what did he want James to find out about this winery?
He shuffled through a discretionary earnings and cash flow statement. Although they called it something else in Italian, he recognized a P&L in any language. He noticed the name of a distributor and frowned, not remembering an American distributor in the supplier and distribution contracts. He found that original document, scanned it, and didn’t see that American company. He saw a similar name for shipments to New York, but the two lists didn’t match.
He texted Hayward to see if he’d caught the discrepancy, and even that
little act of management made him feel better and closer to what mattered. Making money.
Is money important to you, James?
He tried to silence the echo of a question he didn’t like being asked as his thumb hovered over the phone screen. But before he signed off, he added one more sentence…
How committed are we to this deal, in your opinion?
He stared at the question, imagined Hayward’s eyes popping out behind his brainy accountant’s specs, then hit send.
The response came back in seconds.
We can’t back out now. Don’t even think about it.
But, deep inside, James was thinking about it.
* * *
Kyra took the stairs up to Suite 6 at the Eden Roc the next morning, stopping in front of the door to catch her breath and slow her heart rate. But not because she was winded. All morning, she’d been a little breathless in anticipation of seeing James.
In fact, since she’d said good-bye to him about twelve hours ago, she hadn’t thought about anything else but that secret, sexy kiss in the wine vault and how much she wanted another one. And another. And…oh.
This could get complicated. It was one thing trying to discern his plans for the winery by getting friendly and taking him around the sights of Amalfi. It was something else completely to fall into his arms and give in to the chemistry that was crackling between them.
He was, in essence, her boss. And he was, in essence, a hardened, cold, calculating executive who held the fates of the winery and people she loved in his hands. And she was, in essence, achingly attracted to him.
Forget essence. In reality, this was all too complicated.
Well, she wasn’t going to climb into the sack with him today, that was for sure. It was a day in Ravello to visit the iconic Villa Rufolo or a boat trip to Capri and the famed Blue Grotto. There shouldn’t be any kissing. Not too much, anyway.
She tapped on the door and waited a moment, hearing James’s voice as he came to let her in. He was speaking in low, serious tones, pausing between sentences, obviously on the phone.
When he opened the door, a phone to his ear, his dark eyes widened, and he smiled at the sight of her. And her heart flopped around like a helpless fish out of water. This shouldn’t feel like a date. This shouldn’t feel like this.
JAMES (7 Brides for 7 Brothers Book 6) Page 9